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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




J. JEROME WELTY. 



Sunshine and Frost 



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By J. JEROME WELTY. 



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3&"J0>-^ 



COLUMBUS, O.: 

William G. Hubbard & Co. 

1894. 



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Copyright, 1894, 
By J. JEROME WELTY. 



THIS VOLUME OF 

SUNSHINE AND FROST 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED IN MEMORY 

OF OUR HAPPY 

SCHOOL AND COLLEGE DAYS, 

TO ALL WHO HAVE BEEN PUPILS OF 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS 



Sunshine, 5 

Autumn's First Frost, . . . . 6 

Something To Do, 8 

I Am Not Old, 11 

Unseen Graves, . . . . . . . .12 

Initiofinem, 16 

Vernal, 22 

Amadema, 25 

Beauty, . 29 

Juanita, 31 

Love's Song Serenade, 34 

The Parting, 36 

The Tale of Ington Brooklet, . . . .38 

Elsie, 44 

Rural Summer Eve, The, 79 

Nellie, 85 

Who Is To Blame, 87 

To the Grave, 89 

Farewell, A 94 

Shades of Autumn, 97 

Little Rollie Guy, ...... 100 

A Moment's Sorrow, 104 

A Sad Heart, 105 

Down By Darby, 107 

Snowdown, 109 

Catching Sunshine, 113 

Ye Hills of Logan, 114 

To Our Noble Four Score, .... 116 
Life's Voyage, ....... 118 

Good Night, 120 

Parting Thoughts, 121 



Sunshine. 



^T^he grass blades quiver in the sun, 
-*- And waves of gladness o'er them run. 

The peach and apple blossoms fall, 
With spring-time's beauty over all. 

With blossoms red and blossoms white, 
The Sunshine wakes a glory light. 

A mystic something breaks the chain 
That holds the winter in its wane. 

It calls from out the lonely earth 
A jubilee of joyance worth, 

A mountain's weight in gold. — 
'Tis Sunshine makes it all unfold. 



L J 



Ctutumn's $ivst grost 

ast night a killing, cold, white frost, 

O'er all the land came down; 
The green trees have their freshness lost, 

And turned to russet brown. 
The woodlands sigh, 
The flowers die. 

The leaflets bask in colors bright, 

In pink and yellow, red and white. 
The forest hangs his heavy head, 

Obeisance to the frost ; 
For summer sweetness now is dead, 

Its love-charmed music lost. 

The days of sighing winds are here — 

The sad and doleful days; 
The world is in the waning year, 
And Autumn's music plays. 
The dead leaves fall 
From poplars tall ; 
The breezes catch them as they go, 
And whirl them high, then lay them low. 
6 



The days are full of songs and sighs, 

A melancholy dole ; 
Like burning tears from weeping eyes, 

They touch life's very soul. 

The summers beauty, rich and rife, 

Is dying, dying, dying; 
The world is living sadder life, 

All sighing, sighing, sighing. 
The ivy weeps, 
And closer creeps 

Within the cleavings of its bowers, 

To wait the warmth of future hours. 
Last night there came a cold, white frost, 

And with it came a sigh ; 
The earth a half its sweetness lost, 

And beauty fain would die. 



Something Co T)o. 

To the Class of >94, North Lewisburg, O m High 

School. 



OpHE duties that lie upon every soul, 
-*- And hold it a debtor to all, 
Are types that but shadow the long, long role, 
Of claims that from heaven may fall. 

The world, like the tide on the treacherous sea, 

In majesty rolls on its way; 
And oftimes in sorrow and oftimes in glee, 

We feel the wild touch of its spray. 

The power of thought is the lever that lifts 
The world to a basis more true; 

And time from her storehouse this solemn 
truth sifts, 
"There's something for each one to do." 

To satisfy seJf there is something to do; 

For happiness never can rest, 
Where duty's demands are considered untrue, 

And self is regarded as best. 

8 



The world is an ocean of everything strange; 

Its waves are of sorrow and woe; 
Its ripples are far beyond man's feeble range, 

For ripples that come always go. 

The icebergs that float on this ocean of toil, 
Must melt by the fingers of love ; 

For nothing must rest that will hinder or foil, 
The purpose whose end is above. 

The iceberg of sin in its ghastly retreat 
Has millions of forms in its hold; 

The drunkard, the gambler, the commonplace 
cheat, 
Are pictures of some in its fold. 

All these are but shadows, the work is undone; 

And shall it continue so still? 
If earth would grow better, the race must 
be run, 

That right every impulse may thrill. 

But far above earth is a mightier claim, 
That holds every soul as its own ; 

Regardless of fortune, regardless of fame, 
It judges by deeds that are done. 

9 



This power requires that right shall be king; 

That wrong shall be banished from earth; 
That duty accomplished shall happiness bring, 

Till death shall in heaven be birth. 

To self, to the world, and to heaven's high call, 
The deeds of this earth must prove true; 

And over the stage till the curtain shall fall, 
There is something for each one to do. 




10 



T 



3 Qm Hot ©16. 

here's naught in ocean, earth or sky, 
Nothing low and nothing high, 
That sings a strain of sweeter bliss, 
Or wakes a happier thought than this: 
1 am not old, I am not old, 
No silver threads among the gold. 

The budding time, the high springtide, 

And life, with portals open wide, 

Bids thought expand and hope leap high, 

In words that whisper, sing, or sigh, 

I am not old, I am not old, 

No silver threads among the gold. 



11 



w 



Unseen (Brakes* 

hat thoughts eome crowding to the mind, 

When musing, all alone, 
Of present things, and past, combined, 

The garnered and the sown. 



Leap back a space and pause to night 
where first 

The recollections serve fond memory. 

From out the events of this interval, 

That holds the space from then till now, 
sum up 

The long results of change, and draw the 
line 

That separates the realm of constancy 

From this. From far beyond the gold- 
tipped clouds, 

Call back Imagination in its flight; 

From out the cell where Thought is 
laboring 

With Life's primeval entity, drawn in 

12 



The wandering Mind; without the dim 
unknown, 

Beyond the sphere of knowing, gently- 
loose 

The anchorings of Hope ; then softly roll 

The stone away, and silently descend 

In memory's Unseen Graves. 

When alone, all alone, 'neath the star-sprinkled 

sky, 

With heaven's blue dome arching proudly "on 
high; 

When listening still to the -low gentle song, 

That the breezes will sing as they hurry along ; 

When plucking the rose in a half cruel way 

From the stem where it bloomed for one 
beautiful day ; 

In the sweet, dewy morn, in the long, dreary 
night, 

When the dawning is sad, when the gloam- 
ing is bright, 

When the mellow winds come from the 
home of the flowers, 

When the Ice Mountains crack in December's 
long hours; 

On a beautiful, sun-shiny, May-day's bright 

morn, 

13 



When a life-long enchantment for beauty is 

born; 
When the moon-beams are kissing a snow 

girdled land, 
And Affection leaps high at the Bosom's 

command ; 
Let it be when it will, let it be where it may, 
In the gloom of the night or the glory of day, 
There comes through the mist of the years 

that have fled. 
The long words intended for memory's dead. 

When the curtains are drawn and the tapers 

burn dim, 
A nameless, un-namable something creeps in. 
For down through the years that forever are 

gone, 
Man only is ever remembering on. 
There are corners in life where no eyes ever 

look, 
There are chasms in life that no stranger 

can brook. 
There are Hopes that are anchored, but no 

one knows where, 
Save the soul that has silently anchored 

them there. 

14 



'Neath the silence that broods o'er the grave 

of the soul, 
The billows of mystery ever will roll. 
There is pleasure in sadness, as ever in pain, 
There are tintings of Happiness follow its 

train. 
So life has a pleasure, down deep in the 

grave, 
'Neath life's rugged mountain and time's 

cruel wave, 
Where a treasure was buried, away from 

earth's view, 
Awaiting life's sun-shine, its rain and its dew. 

But forever and forever, 

Like a light house 'neath the sea, 
Ruined hopes may glimmer never, 

And the past can never be. 




15 



3nittofinem* 



A lump of clay, a niche of time, a span 
^"-^ Of space, a spark of life, and thou art 

formed 
By heaven's mighty hand on equal terms 
With all thy earthly fellows, high and low. 
The spacious earth hath held for thee a spot 
On which to dwell ; it buds and blossoms full 
And free, and shares with thee its hidden 

sweets, 
As once it gave its substance for thy frame. 

A power, as yet unknown to mortal men, 
Has timed thy heart's pulsations, and produced 
The force that sends thy life blood, swift and 

warm, 
Throughout thy coursing veins ; and in the most 
Secluded cell imagination holds, 
Or thought, or mind, contrives to occupy, 
The force that gave existence to thy form, 
And keeps the elements which constitute 
Thy being in their place, works on in its 

16 



Mysterious way. From out the deep of thy 

Primeval entity, the life germ of 

Thy mental force and moral worth, the which 

Thy passions either serve or rule, it brings. 

And by a part of what it calls its self, 

Transmuted into life, thyself hath power 

Existence to sustain. Thus all thy art 

Is by another given. Thy future self 

Yet waits the giving, thou thyself must give. 

The events and results of life engross 
Thy mental powers. Thought seems brighter for 
Its thinking : deeds of honor's daring seem 
The brighter for the doing; life, with all 
Its toils and tear-springs, and the shadows in 
Its keeping, seems the more completely lived 
For having done the living. And yet thy 

worth, 
And e'en that force that Nature gave, will lie 
A dormant thing, unseen, unknown, unloved, 
Unless thou trainest all thy powers, that they 
A life may shape which will do homage to 
Thy nature — deeds diversified and grand 
Through which life's beauty shines. 

When right and might 
Combine on equal terms, the surface form 

17 



This dual innovation, beauty, shows, 

But forms a background, grand sublime, from 
which 

Reflects the spirit beauty of thy soul. 

Thy inward splendor is thy Nature's loan — 

A lease of life. But hands, and heart, and 
mind, 

And will, in action set by thy own self, 

Combine thy outward beauty to create. 

And though thou claim'st a beauty sweeter far, 

Than all that human eyes have e'er beheld, 

Or fables fancied fairies to possess, 

Yet every form and trace of what thou call'st 

Thy loveliness, must bow a gentle, calm 

Subordinate unto thy moral worth 

And excellencies. 

Beings yet to come, 

Adown the path of life, will scarcely pause 

To learn that thou wast pleasing in thy looks. 

The grave, the lonely grave, is all of earth 

That then will know that thou existence had. 

Then know the consequences of thy self, 

And not thy simple self, are what must hold 

Thy life in memory. Virtue, God in man 

By man exhibited, in every path 

That leads unto a destiny, waits for 

Thy choosing. 

18 



As thy energy to do, 
So is the fullness and completeness of 
Thy doing. As the pureness of thy thought, 
So is the firmness and the greatness of 
Thy willing. As the firmness of thy will, 
So is thy impetus to energy. 
And as the bending of thy energy, 
The greatness of thy willing, and the height 
And depth, and fitness and completeness of 
Thy mind and thought, so is the full extent 
Of all thy excellencies, and the how 
That earth will hold thy name in memory. 

The world leaps up in wonder at the rise 
Of some great mind, that, by the exercise 
Of powers, common to the human race, 
Succeeds in finding out a mental path, 
Till then unseen, unheard of and unknown, 
Down which he wanders, gathering mental fruit 
To bring before the hungry multitude, 
Who wait for something rare. 

And yet the scope of mystery is all a thing 

unknown. 
To think to know and vet to know to know, 
And hold a surety on veracity, 
While nature's laws but form an alphabet 

19 



By which are spelled the wonders of the worlds 
That occcupy the realms of endless space, 
And these in turn but form a simple key 
To unlock infinity, are things to man 
And earth divine. But in the worlds 
To-morrow, all things will be possible. 

And when thy mortal envelope shall bind 
And compass thee no more, what things may 

then 
Be known ? What then will be the limit of 
Thy knowing ? Mystery will lose itself 
In pure simplicity. And when before 
Thy God, whose entity transmuted is 
Thyself, thine eyes immortal look upon 
The element of space and comprehend 
It thoroughly, while force, eternity, 
Infinity and God, thy mind will dare 
To think upon, thyself shall then begin 
To know ; but what will be the ending, earth 
Has never known, nor ever yet shall know. 

But wait that when thou standest on the line 

That separates Eternity from Time, 

Time's mortals from immortals, God and 

Heaven 
From man and earth, thy former self rise not 

20 



And drag thee down to the infernal realm ; 
But, full of energy and hope, with truth 
The legal tender of thy life, thy soul 
May find its way to God and taste the sw r eets 
Of universal truth. 



21 



A' 



Vexnal 

ll day the mellow South-winds blew, 
Ind with them came the breath of flow'rs; 

They sang the soul-songs that they knew, 
And brought a world of love to ours. 



The spring-time has come ! 
A thousand voices sound in air, 

Sweet commotion. 
Sweet music everywhere. 

Columbines are gayly waking, 
Lilies join the merrymaking; 
All things call us. Nature smiles, 
And o'er accustomed stiles, 

Belated footsteps come. 
The merry birds sing loud ; 

Their music streams away, 
Through all the live-long day ; 
The heavens reveal no cloud 
To gloom the day. 
Transmuted love is calling, 
With Nature's purest tone ; 
22 



While drops of bliss are falling 
From the land unknown. 

Something calls us loudly, 

Calls us sweet but proudly, 

To leave our winter's den, 

And pluck the flo'rs again. 

Softly escaping the breezes are creeping 

Over the sea ; 

Gently the flowers awake from their sleep- 
ing, 

Happy they be. 

Spring with its treasure-boon, meekly is 

coming, 

To greet the bird's song and the busy bee's 

humming. 

Beauty beams bright in a dual delight. 

The fields are fresh and green, 

The sky is flecked in golden sheen, 

While the tree-tops sip a bliss between 

From the dawn of morn till the coming of 
night. 

The heart beats light and gay, 

The soul throws care away, 

For spring-time is here. 

The spring- tide's gushing sweeetness 
Fills the world with holy bliss ; 
23 



And silently the blossoms blowing, 
Greet the morning with a kiss. 

A mystic, unseen something 
Wakes the flowers from their sleep : 
And budded sweets begin their growing 

In the forest dark and deep. 

The cattle faintly lowing, 

The river gently flowing, 
The barn-fowl lust'ly crowing, 

The orchards sweetly glowing, 
Tell the world that Spring is here, 
Maddest time of all the year. 
The sound of pleasant music, 
In the leafy boughs above, 
Where birds begin their singing, 
Taught by heaven's hand of love, 
Peals forth the happy cadence, 
Like the glory of a song, 
Some lover's love is singing, 
With a glad heart beating strong. 

The wee bird's tree-top swinging, 

The wild flowers odors bringing, 

The copse's joyful ringing, 

The ivy's closer clinging, 
Softly whispers, far and near, 

Spring has come and May is here. 



24 



Ctmafcemcu 

Last night the twilight's sunset glory flecked 
' the azure blue above, 
While sad winds wept the rueful story of 
the dying of my love. 

The tears are hot, my eyelids burning, and 

my lips are quivering, too ; 
Life's daylight into night is turning, hope 

is damped in death's cold dew. 

Ah ! when I knew that you were dying, far 

away and all alone, 
My heart was sick with sobs and sighing, 

and my life was one long moan. 

Just now I think of all your doing since the 

day when first we met ; 
Your love-words come, with fondest wooing, 

and your love-lips kiss me yet. 

Your head is still upon my bosom, as it was 
in other years ; 

Again your sweet lips whisper, darling, dry- 
ing sorrow T? s burning tears. 

25 



Once more within our dear home kneeling, 
folded each in love's embrace, 

We whisper to our Heavenly Father, for 
his blessing and his grace. 

One day your life was full of sorrow, o'er 

your brow a shadow crept ; 
You sighed and longed for life's to-morrow 

till your weary eyelids wept. 

For only yesterday, my darling, as we sped 
across the lea, 

Life's wolves so near thy heart were snarl- 
ing that you clung more close to me. 

And e'er we slumbered in the gloaming, 
you had nestled in my breast, 

And wondered if, when weary roaming, you 
would always find this rest. 

But thou art gone ! The star-light shimmers, 
and the moonbeams kiss the wave ; 

The dew-drop on the rose-bud glimmers, 
but my love is in her grave. 

This night, of all the nights of earth, is 

saddest, far to me ; 
I can not leap the walls of woe nor break 

my spirit free. 

26 



The very winds are full of sighs, the 

zephyrs weep and moan ; 
I can not speak, but echoes answer with a 

bleeding groan. 



i & & j 



The birds that chirped through all the day 
brought to my cheek a blush ; 

And every song I thought to sing, the 
music bade me hush. 

My head is hot and full of pain, my blood 

burns through my cheek ; 
My thoughts leap quick and wild like 

lightning when the storm is bleak. 

The murmur of the river brings a quiver to 

my heart ; 
And every ripple in its course in anguish 

makes me start. 

The moon looks cold and sad and drear, 

the stars are sleepy, too ; 
And from the Milky Way a stream of 

anguish pierces through. 

For, Oh ! the cruel grave enfolds you, you 

will bless my life no more, 
And vet mv heart forever holds vou in the 

glory love of yore. 
27 



No flowers o'er your form are growing, you 

are only dead to me ; 
Above your unseen form are blowing, winds 

that weep for none but me. 

No turf was turned to coldly hide you, for 

your grave is in my heart ; 
And there my hope lies close beside you, 

buried near, though far apart. 

But thou art gone ! The star-light shimmers, 
and the moonbeams kiss the wave ; 

The dew-drop on the rose-bud glimmers, 
but my love is in her grave. 

And, now, farewell, farewell, my cherished, 
all that speaks of thee, farewell ; 

Thy broken vows with thee have perished, 
angels wait thy tale to tell. ■ 

Last night the twilight's sunset glory, 
flecked the azure blue above, 

While sad winds wept the rueful story of 
the dying of my love. 



28 



Beauty. 



A ll day the great sun from his deep resting 
^"*- place 
Has bathed the green earth in the purest of 
light; 
And, robed in her garment of beauty and grace, 
The earth has a foretaste of heaven's delight ; 
While the lights from above 
Melt my life into love, 
And the beautiful gray 
Of the dawn fades away, 
And the love that is mine as a river doth run, 
Till the stream is as constant as yonder great 
sun. 

In days that are sunny and nights that are 
drear, 

A train of sweet memories oft come and go ; 
And a form and a face and a heart to me dear, 

Creep into my thoughts when the evening 

winds blow ; 

29 



From the land far away, 
Where the bright angels stay, 
Forms of glory divine 
Touch their sweet lips to mine, 
And I bask in the sunshine of beautiful love, 
Till my soul floats up starward in regions above, 



30 



3uctmta, 



Upon the Death of a Fellow Teacher's Only 

Child. 



o 



ne sun kissed day in summer bright, 

An angel came to earth ; 
It folded soft its pinions light — 

'Twas at our baby's birth. 

A lovely blue-eyed babe was she, 

Juanita was her name ; 
Her baby prattle, light and free, 

Put all our pride to shame. 

Her little eyes, with love aglow, 

Soon learned a mothers face ; 
Her little hands, as soft as snow, 

She moved with childish grace. 

'Tis strange how soon a mother's heart 

Will learn to love her child ; 
How soon her heart strings bend and start 

At baby's tones so mild. 
31 



Ah ! what is it — a mother's love ! 

Can earth explain it all? 
Pure glories that from heaven above 

To mothers only fall. 

For six short moons Juanita stayed, 

And then she went away ; 
Upon the hill her grave was made, 

One lonely winter day. 

'Twould seem that one so young, so near, 

With us might longer stay ; 
We just had learned to love her dear 

When she was called away. 

But death will come to young and old, 
To wise, and strong, and great ; 

And naught can we from him withhold, 
Nor will he longer wait. 

A mother's heart is empty now, 
The world its charm has lost ; 

And chilly winds upon her brow 
Have left an icy frost. 

A father's heart is weeping, too, 

For Nita was his child, 
And he had learned to love her true, 

So small, so weak, so mild. 

32 



But Christ has taken her away 

To live with him in heaven, 
And there she'll wait till some sweet day. 

To us she will be given. 

'Twas sad, indeed, farewell to say, 

And sing in sorrow's flame : 
'Twas God who gave and took away, 

And blessed be his name. 

And now, farewell, our angel child, 

Your bed is heaven's best ; 
And there some day your parents mild, 

Will fold you to their breast. 



33 



£ot?e's Song Serenade, 



TO MY BABIES, RUTH AND ESTHER. 



N 



ight, lonely night, be still ; 

Silence lias wooed delight ; 
Sleep with thy softness fill, 

Love sings with love to-night, 
Love sings, 

Love sings with love to-night. 

Moon of the midnight sky, 

Beam forth your softest light; 

Bid care and sorrow fly, 

Love sings with love to-night. 

Stars of the midnight sky, 
Far, far in regions bright, 

Shine sorrow's tear fount dry, 
Love sings with love to-night. 

Wind of the midnight deep, 
Soft, wave thy pinions light ; 

34 



Soothe, Soothe my babies' sleep, 
Love sings with love to-night. 

Dreams of the midnight deep, 
Laved with life's secret might, 

Charm, charm my babies' sleep, 
Love sings with love to-night. 

Angels from heaven's deep, 
Soft, fold thy pinions light ; 

Watch, watch my babies' sleep, 
Love sings with love to-night. 
Love sings, 

Love sings with love to-night. 



35 



tEfye Parting. 



To the Students of the East Liberty, 0., Normal. 



T was looking this night 
^ At the stars' beauty bright, 
And the moon in her glory doth shine; 
It reminds me once more, 
As it oft hath before, 
Of the last time your presence was mine. 

'Twas the last time we strayed 

Where the soft zephyrs played 
With the branches that waited the spring; 

But their voice full of glee 

Sang a parting for me — 
Such a parting as winds only sing. 

Now that moon in her wane 
Weaves my heart and my brain 

In a web with the days of the past; 
And I swing to and fro, 
As the dreams come and go, 

Through the years that have fled swift and fast. 

36 



There's a shell from the sea 

That will still sing to me 
Of the time it was brought from the shore ; 

But the tones that I hear 

Are to me strangely drear, 
As they sigh, "never more, never more." 

There's a dry, withered flower 

From a long broken bower, 
That was grown 'neath an evergreen's shade ; 

But its sweet smelling breath 

Is in silence and death, 
For " the roses that blossom must fade." 




37 



Cfye Cale af 3ngion Brooklet 

A ll day the winds came rushing down 
-*--*■ Upon the sad earth bare and brown. 
And wrapped it in a snow-white gown. 

From out a naked woodland deep, 
Where sedges sigh and willows weep, 
The laughing waves of Ington creep. 

The snow-flakes light upon its breast- 
As if, fatigued, they sought for rest, 
Like unfledged birds that leave their nest. 

TO THE BROOKLET. 

O, little Brook, you speed along 
With busy current swift and strong, 
And whisper back my plaintive song. 

But all the snow-flakes, pure and white, 
That on thy heaving bosom light, 
Are . swallowed up and lost from sight. 

38 



So every flake that ever sought, 
Or from thy bosom ever brought, 
A resting place, has come to naught. 

But you are kinder, Brook, to me, 
Than to the snow-flakes light and free, 
For you have held my charge in fee. 

Now, tell me, Brook, have you forgot 

The bridge in Maloirs lone, or not, 

And have thy waves their message brought ? 

I know, sweet brook, that you would smile 
If you could pause a little while, 
And write your history mile by mile. 

O, laughing Brook, 0, dancing stream, 
You make me half inclined to dream, 
Or think you are not what you seem. 

You told me once, long, long ago, 
You had a secret I should know, 
When autumn's breezes ceased to blow. 

Now, here I wait for you to tell 
The secret you have kept so well; 
The tale, I know, will please me well. 



THE BROOKLET'S SONG. 

A maiden fair, with eyes of blue, 
A heart of love both firm and true, 
And lips as sweet as May morn's dew, 

Once came upon my mossy brink, 
Where lilies white my waters drink, 
And sat among the flowers to think 

Of dear old friends and many new, 

To all of whom she bade adieu, 

Save one whose memory still pierced through 

That deep where silent sorrows sink, 
Where silent love awakes to shrink 
Behind a blush till the love stars blink. 

Her eyes were pure and fair and bright, 
As some fresh May morn's sweet delight, 
By Nature lit with glory light. 

Among the tresses of her hair 
The sunshine left an ample share 
Of all its golden beauty there. 

Her looks were beautiful and sweet, 
Because her heart came up to greet 
The heart that came her own to meet. 

40 



She looked so gently on me there, 
So meek and mild, so fond and fair, 
With love-locks like the angels wear. 

She sat in silence for a time, 
Enchanted by the soothing chime 
Of Nature's melody sublime. 

Then, as the sporting sunlight sped 
Among the love-locks of her head, 
She leaned to me and softly said : 

THE LADY'S SECRET. 

My Brook, I have a silent tale. 

That makes my brow grow white and pale, 

And melts my spirit to a wail. 

You know that once while sitting here, 
Caressing you I loved most dear, 
Another form came nestling near. 

Yoti know the tale yourself, sweet brook; 
Your eyes upon the scene could look; 
Your ears could hear the vows we took. 

For it was on your silent shore 

We took our vows, and here he swore 

That he would love me evermore. 

41 



Now many months have dragged along 

Since last I listened to his song. 

With glad heart leaping wild and strong. 

He went to seek his father's grave 
Where Scotland's placid waters lave, 
Across the ocean's cruel wave. 

Across the deep so wild and wide. 
Where mother lived, where father died, 
Where sister slept by father's side. 

To those — his loved — he longed to go, 
With bleeding heart his love to show, 
With wailing winds to weep his woe. 

He pressed his quivering lips to mine, 
And bade me let the lone-star shine, 
To live in hope and not repine. 

He said that he would come again, 
With gold still held by other men, 
And I should love him on till then. 

But he has never c^ome to me, 
Across the wild and foaming sea, 
Nor can I tell where he may be. 

42 



Now, will he ever come to me, 

To make my sad heart light and free, 

To bid the clouds of sorrow flee? 

conclusion. 

Say, Ington, lovely little brook, 

If through two hearts your eyes can look, 

Will love life's gulf of sorrow brook? 

Should all thy memories die to day, 
Then would my heart to heaven pray 
That I with them might pass away. 

Ah! truthful Brook, you glide so fast, 
And whisper back when you are past: 
The love of youth will never last. 



43 



(Elsie. 

r\$ memory's wings I fly backward to-night, 
^^ To scenes that have faded and gone ; 
Here I pause by a brooklet in midsummer 
bright, 

Where midsummer sweetness floats on, 
To a vine covered cottage that rises near by, 

In the calm of a willow tree's shade ; 
But one thing is gone, and I pause with a sigh — 

Ah, the roses that blossom must fade. 

Oft times in these years have I stood by the 
brook, 
And gathered up shells from the shore ; 
Or out of the beautiful mossy banks took, 

The flowers that grew there of yore ; 
The same path winds 'round by the brook in 
the grove, 
And out through the wood in the glade ; 
But olden time beauty has ceased there to 
rove — 
Ah, the roses that blossom must fade. 

44 



The soft yellow sands that are washed to the 
shore, 
Lay glim'ring there all the day long ; 
And children play there just the same as of 
yore, 
In childhood's glad laughter and song; 
But washed from the sands for these many long 
years, 
Are the prints that a little foot made ; 
And time has no recompense, save that of 
tears — 
Ah, the roses that blossom must fade. 

The same window looks from the cottage grown 
old, 
To the brooklet that gurgles below ; 
And flowers grow wild over valley and wold, 

As they did in the sweet long ago ; 
But the hand that twined wreaths of those love 
lilies white, 
For me her last garland has made ; 
And somehow the daylight has turned into 
night — 
Ah, the roses that blossom must fade. 

In that sweet long ago, in that loved long ago, 
In that strange time we now call the past, 

45 



A farmer lived there by the name of Eulo, 

In a love that resisted time's blast ; 
There his wife and his child kept the cot all the 

day, 
Till the farmer returned in the eve. 

With his day's labor done, and the dawn 

growing gray, 
A caress and a kiss to receive. 

I remember that child with her love and her 
charms, 
And her heart that was whiter than snow ; 
All the world seemed a flame when she leaped 
from the arms 
She had loved as the world can not know ; 
The last time we parted in childhood's sweet 
day, 
My heart, it can never forget ; 
We parted in grief as the moon hid away, 
Our faces with burning tears wet. 

This night while I pondered alone o'er my 
book, 
I ventured to open this case ; 
And then for the first time in long years I took, 

These sacred boons out from their place ; 
I know it is late and my beard is snow white, 

46 



But I do not feel sleepy somehow ; 
So I'll tell you my tale on this beautiful night, 
For I never have told it till now. 

Now in years that have vanished, when I was a 
child, 

In a home that my infancy knew, 
In a sunshiny valley where flowers blowed wild, 

In the sweets of the morning's pure dew, 
Together two children in happiest glee, 

Whiled childhood's fleet moments away, 
And named the white lilies and watched them 
to see 

The first that would wilt and decay. 

Thus we lived for one beautiful summer time 
through 
In childhood's own glory and bliss, 
And dreamed the wild notions — as such 
dreamers do — 
Too strange for a planet like this. 
We drank of pure sweetness from childhood's 
full cup, 
Not dreaming that earth had a care ; 
Each day had its menrry leaves, all treasured 
up, 
And labelled by dimpled hands fair. 

47 



But the summer passed by and the autumn 
grew late, 
And the village school called us from play ; 
And I scarcely knew whether by fortune or 
fate, 
That the roses had faded away. 
We trudged hand in hand to the village day 

school, 
Till the winter had nearly gone by ; 

Each day brought its treasure, perhaps but 

one rule, 
To be used when life's sun had risen high. 

Such pleasures, however, can never last long, 

And each have their own way to end ; 
The white snow lay deep and the wild winds 
blew strong, 

And earth seemed to weep for a friend, 
When oiF to a far away home in the west. 

The iron horse bore her one day ; 
Two little friends parted — it may have been 
best, 

God rules in a wonderful way. 

In childhood we dream, and our days are too 
long; 
When age comes they speed by too fast : 

48 



In childhood our music is wild fancy's of song; 

When age comes we sing of the past. 
But youth is the fortune or fate time of life, 

For the strongest of passions then rise, 
And over the late budded soul rich and rife, 

Enchantment in ecstacy flies. 

I clung to my home till my young days 
passed by, 
Till the flame of full manhood burned 
bright ; 
But I never forgot, though I can not tell 
why, 
When my daylight seemed turned into 
night. 
There were missives that reached us of course, 
now and then, 
And each their own story would tell ; 
For lovers love letters much better than men, 
They tell a love story quite well. 

At last I had finished my weary school course, 

A graduate some people say; 
But that matters not, for I bottled up force 

That has served me in many a way ; 
And then I determined to make a surprise, 

But the secret I kept as my own ; 

49 



Then started out west, where the blue waters 
rise, 
And the rivers dash wild with white foam. 



There are corners in life where our path seems 
to bend 

From the course we have long held in view; 
And sometimes it leads to a different end, 

And a different life course all through ; 
And mysteries rise till we can not feel sure 

Of scarcely a thing that we know ; 
While our best force is spent in a feint to 
endure, 

Till the shadows are ready to go. 

'Twas night when I started — a sad, solemn 
night ; 
The winds sang a mournful good-bye; 
The sky was o'ercast, and the moon was not 
bright, 
And the stars glimmered faintly on high. 
I watched the gay lights of my home fade 
away, 
With a feeling I can not explain; 
For thoughts crowded fast in their doubtful 
array, 
Collected from memory's refrain. 

50 



The moon danced her image 'neath Ington's 
bright wave, 
As over its ripples we swept; 
Now oft'times while w r atching these pure 
waters lave 
In the moss where the white willows wept, 
I had dreamed of a country where wilder 
waves roar, 
Where the tide rushes early and late; 
Where billows dash high on a rock bounded 
shore, 
Then press through the strange " Golden 
Gate." 

There now I was going to make my surprise, 

Or, maybe, my self be surprised; 
For doubts would loom up and vague fears 
would arise, 

And suspicion made love half despised; 
But that does not matter, for all people think, 

And doubts, too, arise now and then; 
For every one stops by the wayside to drink 

Of that fountain that poisons some men. 

There are times when we're shadowed by 
earth's blinding bliss, 
And fain would vve sing in our dream 

51 



Of something too pure for a planet like this, 
That blooms on our banks of life's stream; 

But e'er we have gazed the bright vision has fled; 
Its spirit has ceased to upbraid, 

And borderland beauty lies withered and dead; 
Ah, the roses that blossom must fade. 

With some the pure glory of love never dies ; 

With others it lives half disguised ; 
While the soul of affection in beauty will rise, 

Till its vitals can scarce be surmised ; 
But for me, I had never yet learned how to 
doubt, 

Or to think that the roses must fade; 
For life is a burden when love has leaked out 

Through a rent that suspicion has made. 

'Twas a beautiful, sunshiny, May day's bright 
morn, 

The birds sang the dawning's first lay ; 
Pure freshness all over the valley was borne, 

By the winds as they sped on their way ; 
The bay seemed to rest in its pebble-lined cup, 

Yet it moved, though no ripples were made ; 
And scarce could I think, as the great sun 
crept up, 

That the roses that blossom must fade, 

52 



It was night when I started, but now it was 
morn, 

And the ocean had just come in sight; 
Here the music of Nature forever was borne 

On the breast of the waves in their flight ; 
But off on a beautiful, sloping hillside, 

A neat little cottage was seen ; 
It faced the great ocean so deep and so wide, 

With its shore of wild beauty between. 

Near by was a garden of beautiful flowers, 

That laughed in the morning's pure dew ; 
Some bloomed in white vessels, some clam- 
bered o'er bow'rs, 

And some o'er the gateway's arch grew. 
Here I feasted my soul in the distance a time 

On the food of my memory's store ; 
While my heart in the silence, through Nature 
sublime, 

Oast the anchor of hope on before. 

The soft balmy breeze stirred the leaves now 
and then, 

And the scene was completely sublime ; 
And the different leaflets again and again 

Improved their own portion of time 

53 



By showing new shades at the will of the 
breeze. 
As hither and thither they swayed ; 
I scarcely thought heaven much sweeter than 
these. 
Yet, the roses that blossom must fade. 

But the fairest of all in the midst of the flow- 
ers, 
A maiden sat twining a wreath ; 
There are times in the gloam of life's sunniest 
hours, 
When glories their sweetest notes breathe, 
That we dream there are angels that visit us 
here. 
In the brightness of heaven's own grace; 
With beauty enchanting, they nestle so near 
That their pulses are felt through the space. 

With a heart beating warmly I started that 
way, 
Supposing the form I had seen ; 
For the sun was not high and the dawning was 
gray, 
And the morning's thick haze hung between; 
The w r alk was not long ; I remember it yet, 
With its spring and its pure water's flow, 

54 



And the great, lofty jut where the cool waters 
fell 
In sprays and white mist far below. 



Alone in the midst of the gay flower bed, 

Two beings stood silent and mute; 
Each looked in surprise, not a word had been 
said — 

Two hearts seemed to hold a dispute ; 
And two pair of eyes seemed to penetrate deep, 

In search of a feature they knew; 
I must pause, just a moment, for Silence to 
weep, 

Or smile, as she chooses to do. 



I never can tell you the bliss that was mine 
When I stood with those flower buds fair; 
The light of pure love o'er my soul seemed to 
shine, 
Till suspision had died of despair. 
She loved me, I knew, in that beautiful way, 

That only the heart can tell how; 
And her love was returned, as a woman's love 
may, 
From a heart that holds sacred its vow. 

55 



That night, all alone, 'neath the beautiful sky, 

We sat where the moon kissed the flow'rs ; 
It was not a fairy that then wandered by, 

Nor a dream that beguiled the fleet hours. 
No, no; it was Elsie that sat by my side, 

And cast her sweet eyes into mine; 
Over land, over sea, over ocean and tide, 

She only, was partly divine. 

Her soft silken hair hung in beautiful waves, 

That played with the winds in their flight; 
Her smile bordered close to the angel that 
laves 

In the sunshine of heaven's delight; 
Her affectionate heart through her words could 
be seen, 

In affections own u snow-down "white breast; 
Her lips with their dewy white roses between, 

Could speak at that bosom's request. 

The moments flew by and the evening grew 
late, 
But something was binding me there; 
My heart was aflame, but 1 could not but wait, 
Though suspense was now brooding despair. 
A cherished desire that had slept in my heart, 
In the presence of Elsie awoke, 

56 



And affection's own spirit seemed love to im- 
part, 
Till the heart from its hiding place broke. 

And now as the day of our nuptials drew near, 

Elsie's brother invited her out 
To his grand mountain mansion — he called it 
Revere — 

There the eagle soared boldly about, 
And the wind ever blew from its purest retreat, 

And the mountain trees waved at its will, 
While its wings bore the odor of sweetness to 
greet, 

The wanderer up the high hill. 

A mountain stream dashed by the beautiful 
place, 

And foamed in its narrow ravine ; 
Its music was wild as it dashed in its race, 

Through its rocky fold, mossy and green ; 
A snowy capped peak could be seen far above, 

An orange grove blossomed below ; 
While the mesne was a border ot beauty and 
love, 

With the sweetness of summer aglow. 

The deer bathed his form in a clear crystal 

lake, 

57 



That lay in its natural park ; 
The otter and fox burrowed safe in the brake, 

And the wolf in the deep forest dark ; 
The swan built her nest in the rocks on the 
shore. 

And nestled her cunning brood there ; 
The gay song birds slept in the firs by the door, 

And the sloos hid the sly, timid hare. 

But a savage tribe wandered that way now and 
then, 
When the war cry inflamed their wild breasts ; 
And the heart of the maiden, as well as 
strong men, 
Kept fear and distraction as guests, 
Till the savage had vented the wrath of his 
spleen, 
And returned to his lawful abode, 
With his swaggard head bowed in a half bru- 
tish mien, 
And his appetite drunken with blood. 

We had scarcely yet wandered o'er half of 
Revere, 
Or acquainted ourselves with its air, 
When the war-painted fiend was reported as 



near, 



58 



Enraged by some bloody affair ; 
We prepared against danger as well as we 
could, 
For the news found the day fully spent ; 
And strange sounds already were heard in the 
wood, 
And the inmates here knew what it meant. 

Behind the gray mountains the sun sank to 
rest, 

The full moon was coming in view ; 
The golden fringed clouds soared aloft in the 
west, 

As Revere bade the twilight adieu ; 
The birds of the forest had sought their repose, 

All hushed save the sad whip-poor-will ; 
The southern breeze courted the beautiful rose, 

And the voice of the ocean was still. 

All nature was shadowed as if by a gloom, 

That hid all its beauty from sight ; 
While the shadows in silence were plotting the 
doom, 
Of that ill-fated, somber-souled night; 
The broad trysting tree and the lover's long lane, 
Were forsaken just now at Revere ; 

59 



And the bliss seeking soul sought the sweeter 
refrain, 
That love sings when danger is near. 

I remember that night, when fair Elsie stood 
there, 
As though it had been but to-day ; 
Her eyes were more bright and her face was 
more fair, 
From the dangers that lay in the way ; 
Her dark waving hair was tied back from her 
brow, 
And her ready hand lay on ray arm; 
While her womanly grace made me glad of the 
vow 
I had made in the park by the tarn. 

If her sweet voice had filled me with wonder 
before, 

It now was completely sublime ; 
Her lips told me much, but her look told me 
more, 

For looks tell the truth ev'ry time : 
If earth had a pattern of beauty more fair, 

Or a grace that was nearer divine, 
It surely was hidden from man's little view — 

At least, it was hidden from mine. 

60 



The lights were turned low in each well shat- 
tered room, 

But its darkness was softened by love ; 
And vigilence helped to abandon the gloom, 

As we watched from the windows above : 
For well we all knew, that as soon as the night 

Had wedded the goddess Repose, 
That many calm dreamers would wake in 
affright, 

To fall at the feet of their foes. 

Now, a yell in the distance rang out o'er the 
hill, 
And a hundred screams answered the chief; 
And the spot that was lately so quiet and still, 

Had war paint and plumes for relief; 
A hundred forms sprang and a hundred bows 
bent 
At the hard, stony walls of Revere ; 
Their war clubs raised high and their full force 
was spent, 
To beat down the doors in the rear. 

This business to me was entirely too new, 

And my eye-sight was somehow quite dim; 
The foremost man stood by the door in full 
view, 

61 



And I lived then on purpose for him. 
He knew enough English to cry out, u My God," 

And his comrades their war-clubs let fall ; 
For there their chief lay on the soft, velvet sod, 

Kefusing to answer their call. 

With fleet limbs they bore him away to the 
lake, 
And their light boat soon shot from the 
shore. 
We stood there in silence, our eyes on the 
brake, 
Half dreaming of safety once more ; 
But e'er the suspense of an hour had passed 

t>y, 

The dream with its happiness fled. 
I felt the hot flashes all over me fly, 
As hope shared its dwelling with dread. 

A hundred forms crept through the green wav- 
ing grass, 
Till they lay by the mansion once more ; 
Then they rose in a column, in one solid mass. 

And stubbornly pressed every door ; 
Their terrible war-cry pierced through my tame 
ears, 
And their efforts would soon let them in ; 

62 



But we fought with a will without nursing our 
fears, 
Or asking if it were a sin. 

One terrible crash and the oaken door fell, 

And the savages rushed up the stair; 
I laid down my gun as their half fiendish yell 

Told plainly their prowess was there. 
I stepped to where Elsie was standing aghast, 

And gathered her close to my breast ! 
With her head on my heart and her eyes in 
mine cast, 

She whispered, " We die this way best." 

Our fighting was done and my gun was thrown 
down, 
And my lips breathed a prayer for our souls ! 
How many had gone to their curse or their 
crown, 
Beyond where the dark river rolls, 
Who would blame me for breaking their life's 
brittle thread, 
It now would be useless to say ; 
For many forms lay on the dewy earth dead, 
When the night gave its place to the day. 

We had turned on the light that their aim 

might be sure, 

63 



That we might not be mangled e'er slain; 
For we thought of no rescue, save death as a 
cure, 
That would heal us from earth and its pain. 
They rushed in upon us with bludgeons raised 
high, 
And features fair fitted for hell ! 
I felt my own blood o'er my palid face fly, 
But I only know this, that I fell. 

They carried me off, though I could not tell 
why, 
For I fell in an unconscious state, 
And remained as if dead till the day had passed 

by, 

And the following night had grown late ; 
But I'll never forget when my senses returned 

For the first thing I thought of was hell ! 
I raised on my hands and my bloody head 
turned, 

But my feelings I never can tell. 

They carried me northward, how far I know not, 

For the place I had never yet seen. 
They lighted their camp with the pine tree's 
hard knot, 
And the deer fed their appetites keen. 

64 



They carried me here on a charger they stole 
From his box by the tarn at Revere ; 

And my name stood alone on the prisoner's 
roll — 
But why had they brought me out here ? 

Not to burn at least one of their prisoners to 
death, 
Is to Indians an omen of ill ; 
And to make him cry out while the flames 
catch his breath, 
Is the sign of their Spirit's good will. 
And now it was plain why they brought me out 
here, 
And my fate was sealed also, I knew ; 
I dared not to hope for the future looked drear, 
And my life force was ebbing low, too. 

My force was so small that they left me un- 
bound, 
Yet my weakness was partially feigned : 
And now while they carefully doctored my 
wound, 
The forms of their language I gained. 
A single man watched me through all the long 
night, 
While hundreds slept round on the wold ; 

65 



And sometimes his sleepy eyes closed them- 
selves tight, 
For the watchman was growing quite old. 

They bandaged my head with a piece of linn 
bark, 
But yet I grew better each day, 
And sometimes crept out just to hear some 
remark, 
That would shadow my fate in some way. 
Thus the days dragged along till the week had 
passed by, 
And my natural strength had returned, 
When a council of warriors collected near by, 
And discussed till their hearts fairly burned. 

I sat near enough to hear all that was said, 

But they never dreamed that I knew, 
Or understood aught that was spoken or read, 

Of the work that each warrior should do. 
The last thing they settled was, what must be 
done 

With the prisoner now in their hold ; 
My heart sank within me, for e'er they begun, 

I felt that my story was told. 

The first voice that spoke said the prisoner 
must die, 

66 



And they fixed on the following day, 
When their circle packed fagots should shoot 
their blaze high, 
While they danced the fleet moments away, 
With their victim tied down to a stake in the 
flame, 
To be burned till his bones should be bare, 
When a feast must be spread for the warriors 
who came, 
In their gala day's event to share. 

The night had now come ; 'twas my last night 
on earth, 
And what a strange night to me there ; 
I thought of my poor life and what it was worth, 

And who might be waiting somewhere, 
For the coming of one she would never more 
see, 
Though she watched till her dark hair was 
gray! 
But was she alive ? was the question with me, 
Or had her sweet soul passed away. 

I thought of my far away home in the East, 
Where my mother was thinking of me, 

And I uttered a prayer that I might be released, 
But I could not see how that could be ; 

67 



So I stretched myself out on the sod in the tent, 
With my guard sitting close to my head ; 

Then I prayed that but one ]ovely dream might 
be sent, 
Of Elsie, if living or dead. 

I closed my faint eyes, but they dared not to 
sleep, 
For my heart blood rushed hot to my brain, 
While a thousand forms leaped from their dewy 
cells deep 
To be numbered in memory's train ; 
I thought of the friends who had always been 
true, 
In a day that was brighter than this ; 
And their parting words came to my memory, 
too, 

For their wishes were nothing but bliss. 

» 

And the tear that fell warm from my sister's 
kind eye, 
When I gave her my parting adieu, 
Still burned as it did when her broken good bye, 
Pierced the depth of my bleeding heart 
through. 
My God! what a thought! could I burn to 
death there, 

68 



With no friendly face by my side ? 
Must the dust of my bones by the sweet moun- 
tain air, 
Be strewn o'er the plain far and wide ? 

The night had grown late, not a sound could be 
heard, 

Round me hundreds were slumbering deep ; 
I raised on my hands without speaking a word, 

For my guard was now also asleep. 
In an instant my throbbing brain found me a 
plan, 

And I stood up erect by my guard ; 
Then I vowed if I died I would die like a man, 

For I knew I must surely die hard. 

I picked up the hatchet my guard had let fall, 

And — it sunk in his brain to its eye ! 
There was just a dull thud and that ended it 
all, 
And he died without struggle or cry. 
I took off his raiment — the all that he wore — 

And dressed as he lately had been ; 
Then I took from a shelf of his small scanty 
store, 
The box that his paints were kept in. 

69 



I painted myself till my color was good, 
And his feather I waxed to my head ; 
Then into the river by which the tent stood, 

I pushed the limp form of my dead ; 
Then I opened the wound that my guard 
nursed so well, 
And the blood stained my brow and my 
cheek ; 
Then I pondered the scheme in the tale I 
should tell, 
Willi the tongue I had learned in a week. 

I rushed from the tent with a wild, angry yell, 

That aroused ev'ry warior there ; 
I told them that some one directly from hell, 

Was hiding about us somewhere ; 
That he came to my tent and had dealt me a 
blow, 

And I fell as in sleep's soft embrace ; 
But how long 1 lay thus I did not then know, 

And I showed them the blood on my face. 

Then I told them that when my lost senses 
returned, 
Our victim could nowhere be found ; 
Then every warrior his agile form turned, 
And out through the forest they wound ; 

70 



I had acted my part and the tale was well told, 

And no one suspected my plot ; 

So I saddled the horse that my guard lately 
sold — 

Or, the one that I lately had bought. 

I leaped in the saddle and joined in the chase, 

But soon I escaped in the dark ; 

And when daylight had come I had reached a 
safe place, 

Many miles from my tent of old bark. 

With the war-paint washed off and my own 
raiment on, 

I stopped at a small market place ; 

For ten dreadful days with their events had 
gone, 

Since my faint eyes had seen a white face. 

I told them my story as well as I could, 

And asked what they knew of Revere ; 

But their news was too meager, it did me no 
good, 

But rather it filled me with fear. 

They only had heard that a tribe had been 
there, 

And had killed every one in the strife, 

Refusing to pardon or even to spare 

The women and children with life. 

71 



I yet had before me a full half day's ride, 

Till Elsie's bright home should appear; 
With my heart beating high and the road for 
my guide, 

And the morning sky glassy and clear, 
I stroked the long mane of that beautiful horse, 

And bid him to carry me on, 
While my heart held a mesne betwixt hope 
and remorse, 

In the shadows now gathered, now gone. 

Then the shadows that vanished gave place to 
a cloud, 
That was horribly dark with a dread, 
That the dim fateful distance before me 
endowed, 
With a wist from the land of the dead. 
My heart was so sick that I could not look up, 

When I thought of the scene at Revere ; 
For the draught that I drained from my soul's 
little cup, 
Was a compound of love, hope, and fear. 

The sun had now reached his meridian height, 

His rays lit the valley below ; 
And I caught from a hill top a beautiful sight — 

'Twas the ocean with sunlight aglow; 

72 



But off on a beautiful, sloping hill side, 
A fresh well remembered retreat, 

With its orchard and garden and green 
meadows wide, 
Sprang up my faint eyesight to greet. 

A few weary miles and I stood by the gate, 

Where only a short time before, 
I had stood in the moonlight until it was late, 

With no one but Elsie Lenore, 
Whose soft eyes looked tenderly up into mine, 

As we talked of the sweet days of yore, 
Or the wonderful mesne with its rain and its 
shine, 

And the shadows it cast on before. 

There was silence all round, not a soul could be 
seen, 

As I stepped on the frail earth once more. 
The flowers were sweet and the orchard was 
green, 

And the breeze floated up from the shore; 
I paused for a moment to still my wild brain, 

And into my bleeding heart pour 
The only known balm for this sickening pain, 

That I kept in my cabin of lore. 

73 



I silently walked up the beautiful lawn, 

And paused by the half-open door; 
Inside sat two souls with life's eve drawing on, 

Till the twilight was gathering o'er. 
They were Elsie's own parents, but she was not 
there ! 

And the look that their sad faces wore, 
All wrinkled and shrunken with sorrow and 
care, 

To my faint heart their cold message bore. 

I paused by their feet as they welcomed me in, 

And implored them the news to relate ; 
But their hearts were too full and they could 
not begin, 

For they thought I had shared in the fate 
That had blotted out beauty and life at Revere, 

And left it a sad, dreary place ; 
Then I drank in their news with a low-bended 
ear, 

And a deathly cold moist in my face. 

They told me that when they had come to the 
spot, 
On the following morning's bright dawn, 
That six white forms lay on the green, grassy 
plot, 

74 



And I was the only one gone ! 
Great God! Is it true? Yes, those six were 
all dead, 

And Elsie was there on the sod. 
The dewy earth kindly had pillowed her head, 

But her spirit had gone to her God ! 

Then they gave me the ring that her finger had 
worn, 
Since the day that I first had come there ; 
'Twas the bond of the love that we lately had 
sworn. 
When our days were more sunny and fair. 
The worst had now come, and my sick heart 
o'er flowed, 
For the daylight had turned into night; 
And the storm of soul sorrow its blasting breeze 
blowed 
Till it murdered my hope with its blight. 

I gave them my history full and complete, 
From that dark bloody night at Revere, 
Till I entered their cottage and stood at their 
feet, 
The fate of poor Elsie to hear. 
Then we walked to the graves where the mur- 
dered ones lay, 

75 



And they showed me a mound on the wold, 
And down in the damp of this newly turned 
clay 
Poor Elsie's lips kissed the green mold ! 

I went to her grave when the twilight was 
gray, 
And I knelt there alone on the sod ; 
I remember the words when my poor heart 
gave way, 
That I sent in my anguish to God. 
The long pent up tears from their fountain 
broke up, 
And my heart a strong affluent sent, 
That mixed with the spring that had lately 
burst up, 
And the river of anguish thus went : 

" What am I ? Where am I ? O, heaven ! O, 
God! 
Why, why hast Thou rent my poor soul ? 
Is all that I love now beneath this cold sod ? 

O, God ! will these dark waters roll, 
And yet the wild thunders of grief never 
cease ? 
Nor the angry winds never be still ? 

76 



Must all of life's joy, and its hope, and its 
peace, 
Be blotted out here by Thy will ? 

" When I was a child on my mother's pure 
breast, 
I was happy and innocent, too ; 
But now I am horribly wretched at best, 
And my hands have their blood stains washed 
through ; 
I know that Thy doings are, all things done well, 

And I bide by the sting of Thy rod ! " 
My tongue ceased to speak and my weary head 
fell, 
And my body lay stretched on the sod. 

The night had far gone when my trance had 
passed by, 
And I rose from the green earth to go ; 
I embraced those cold clods as I murmured 
good-bye, 
With a face that was whiter than snow ; 
On the following morning I left the sad place, 
For the home of my boyhood — sweet day — 
And I shall here wait till I see Elsie's face, 
For when heaven shall call me away — 
And the time can not surely delay, 

77 



For my life's twilight eve has grown gray, 
While the furrows of age and decay 
Have stolen my cheeks' bloom away, 
And oft on my pillow I pray 
That heaven would shorten my stay, 
And consign my poor bones to the clay — 
Then Elsie will show me the way. 

Father Time, do not stay ; 

Swing me faster, I pray, 
Till I rest far beyond this sad scene ; 

Then awake me once more, 

On a love laden shore, 
With the past hid away by thy screen. 




78 



Cfye Kural Summer (£t>e. 

^HpHE lovely day 
"■" Has passed away, 
And evening shades are creeping 
Along the vale, 
And through the dale, 
Where all the flowers are sleeping. 

The son of toil, 

Who tills the soil, 
And sows the seed for reaping, 

In twilight's gloam 

Comes plodding home, 
His heart with gladness leaping. 

The maiden fair, 

With golden hair, 
The cattle home is bringing ; 

She trips along 

With shout and song, 
That sounds like fairies singing. 
79 



From setting sun 

Till she is done, 
She milks and still is singing; 

Her face so bright, 

Her heart so light, 
While sunshine she is bringing. 

With " so, Boss, now," 
And " hist, old cow " — 

[Sings.] " We're going home to-morrow; 
" There goes your tail 
Right in my pail*' — 

[Sings.] " No more to sin and sorrow." 

Now one by one 
The chores are done, 

The farm hand's night is nearing; 
He does his part 
With willing heart, 

And toil makes life endearing. 

" Get over, Bill," 

And " now stand still — 

[Sings] ' Of Lily now I'm dreaming ' — 
Back up I say, 
Don't eat all day — 

[Sings] ; Her silver locks are streaming." 

80 



With u wooty, woo," 

And a shoo, chick, shoo," 
The swine the chore boy's feeding; 

From then till night 

This youthful wight 
The onion bed is weeding. 

He loves to play, 

But then each day, 
With every hour is eyeing 

His very feet, 

For fear they'll cheat 
The path on which they're plying. 

It seems to him, 

In visions dim, 
That life is scarce worth keeping; 

His wishes fly, 

His best hopes die, 
And with the dead are sleeping. 

The murky sky 

Is flecked on high, 
And twilight sweets are flowing, 

O'er hill and wold, 

That shine like gold 

When sunshine late was glowing. 

81 



The moon so bright 

With golden light 
Is hill and woodland lining; 

The stars that blink, 

And nod and wink. 
Like diamonds are shining. 

The whip-poor-will, 

In silence still, 
Her mournful song is singing; 

We bend to hear 

With listening ear — 
Sweet thoughts of yore 'tis bringing. 

The little child, 

So weak and mild, 
Beside its mother kneeling. 

Repeats the prayer 

She taught it there, 
Its heart to God revealing. 

In moonlight gray 

The zephyrs play 
Among the branches sleeping, 

That tune of fame, 

Which needs no name, 
Save that of Cupid's weeping. 

82 



And in this gray 

Fond lovers stray 
Adown their paths of trysting; 

In silence deep 

Life's love chords leap 
Into the future's misting. 

The heart gives way 
To love's strong sway, 

The past is going, going; 
For deep and wide 
Flows life's high tide. 

The cup of bliss o'erflowing. 

They part at last 
When the moon is fast 

Below the tree tops sinking; 
With a kiss, a caress, 
And a sweet "God bless," 

Each one is the other's love drinking. 

His slumber brings 
The song he sings, 
[Sings.] U I am dreaming, fondly dreaming;" 
" I am, of course," 
He shouts with force, 
His face a glory beaming. 

83 



She dreams and talks 
Of trysting walks, 
[Sings.] " He'll come, he'll come, he's coming;" 
Thus love holds sway, 
Through night and day, 
In erery channel running. 

Now silence deep, 

In lovely sleep, 
O'er all the farm is reigning; 

While time ebbs bv, 

Without a sigh, 
Another life day gaining. 



84 



HelUe. 



Upon the death of Nellie Chappell, a member of my 
Junior Class, North Lewisburg, 0., High School. 



'HpHE reaper that gathereth the fair young 
-*- flowers, 

Has taken our Nellie away ; 
Her smiles that have cheered us in long sad 
hours, 
Refuse with us longer to stay. 



That sweet gentle voice that we loved to hear, 
Is hushed, and we'll hear it no more ; 

Her laughter so happy, so glad, so clear, 
Is heard on that evergreen shore. 

Her earth-friend has bid her a last farewell, 
And kneeling beside her cold form, 

She kisses her lips while her heart doth swell, 
And weeps for her darling now gone. 

85 



Her sister and brother are weeping, too, 
Their parting kiss rests on her brow ; 

That form they have loved with a love so true, 
Is silent and motionless now. 

She called to her mother in dreams one night, 
But mother had passed on before ; 

And now in her robes that are pure and white, 
She's resting on heaven's bright shore. 



86 



XDfyo is to Blame. 

Tn the swift flying moments of every day life, 
-^ In the feats of the world's weary game, 
For the smallest of evils that gender vain strife, 
How strange ; there is no one to blame. 

A false word is spoken by some thoughtless 
soul, 
And it scathes like the fire's red flame ; 
Then suspicion's dark clouds o'er a guiltless 
heart roll, 
Yet for ail, there is no one to blame. 

A rash deed is done in an unguarded hour, 
And the loss, time can never reclaim ; 

And remorse blasts the petals of Hope's gayest 
flower ; 
Yet for all, there is no one to blame. 

A worn mother pleads in despair for her son, 
To protect him from sorrow and shame ; 

But the boy is a wreck and his life's race is run, 
Yet for all, there is no one to blame. 

87 



A mother's love fails, and a sickening blight, 
Rests aghast on a fair maiden's name ; 

And the tears of a life can not wash the stain 
white, 
Yet for all, there is no one to blame. 

A heart broken lover weeps o'er his sad fate, 
His proud heart is humble and tame ; 

The reason all know ; it is useless to state, 
And yet, there is no one to blame. 

But life's ills must be borne in some sort of a 
way, 

For time on each soul holds a claim ; 
Then fill up life's pages, let happen what may, 

Not pausing to ask, who's to blame. 



88 



Co tfye <Brat>e* 

^^T^was many, many years ago, 

-■- In childhood's happy hours, 
E'er sorrow's blasts began to blow, 

And life was naught but flowers ; 
When sunshine fell on every side, 

From sunshine's realm above ; 
And like the gently swelling tide, 

The heart poured forth its love. 

Two children played as children play, 

One lovely morn in June ; 
In shady grove or sunshine gay, 

Pealed forth their merry tune ; 
The mirthful birds, not half so gay, 

In shady boughs above, 
Were warbling forth their sweetest lay, 

It was a song of love. 

This day a link of friendship's chain, 
Was moulded firm and true ; 

This the link of life's raging main 
Can never rend in two ; 

89 



A chord was touched in kindred hearts 
And straightway up there rose, 

An impulse wide that Nature starts, 
But can not make repose. 

The fateful days of fleeting youth, 

Must come to all who live ; 
When falsehood set his face to truth, 

The wrong for right to give. 
Could we but hide away from light 

Till all these days were past, 
Our eyes would lose the painful sight 

Of ruthless passion's blast. 

Now Winfield in his youthful joy, 

Was wed to lovely May ; 
For Winfield was this happy boy, 

And May his playmate gay. 
But Winfield loved the red, red wine, 

And long he tarried there ; 
Till lovely May began to pine, 

And poverty to stare. 

A lonely hut in yonder vale, 

Where poverty is king ; 
Where music's muse is mis'ry wail, 

(For there they never sing — ) 
90 



There dwell these souls who, years ago, 
Knew naught but childhood's ways. 

The wretched now alone can know 
Their woe in these sad days. 

The school house just below the hill, 

The church in yonder vale, 
Where sparkles bright a pleasant rill 

Whose waters never fail, 
Where flowers bloom through all the day, 

And nod in zephyrs low, 
And send their fragrance far away, 

When evening breezes blow, 

Are spots where mem'ry sweet will fold 

Her pinioned wings in air, 
And tell of days so loved of old, 

When innocence was there; 
And sing the strains of other years, 

In accents sweet and low, 
Which dim the eye with wonder's tears, 

Whose secrets none can know. 

A dying woman, ghastly pale, 
A wine-blurred, haggard man, 

Are what remains to tell the tale 
Of ruthless passion's plan. 
91 



Those once bright eyes are glassy now — ■ 

Their earthly task is done — 
Above the grave her form will bow, 

E'er sets another sun. 

" Dear Winfield," spoke the dying wife, 

AVith soft and trembling voice, 
"Dear Winfield, I am done with life, 

To die is now my choice." 
The wretched man reluctant rose, 

And bowed his head to hear 
The gentle, dying words she chose, 

For those she loved most dear. 

" When I am laid by mother's side, 

On yonder lonely hill, 
When I have crossed the turbid tide, 

Will you be wretched still ? 
O, tell me while the fading spark 

Remains to bless once more, 
That you will quit the frightful dark, 

And seek the light of yore." 

Then came the dying whisper low, 
" In heaven, 111 wait for you ! 

Farewell, my love, from earth I go ! 
Farewell, my friends so true ! " 

92 



From his her fingers loosed their clasp, 

And fell beside her head ; 
And with a deathly, shuddering gasp, 

The drunkard's wife was — dead. 



93 



Ci $arett?ell 



To Prof. C. E. Rowley by his Elocution Class, 
O. N. W., Ada, Ohio. 



TTTords with which to tell our feeling, 
^ * Fail us altogether now, 
And a shade is darkly stealing, 
Over every pensive brow. 

For we know the time of parting 
When the farewell must be said. 

Is so near that we are starting 
At the fearful word we dread, 

But these ties must all be broken, 
And the parting, too, must be ; 

Yet we beg to leave a token, 

Of remembrance here with thee. 

We can ne ? er forget thy kindness, 
Though the blade of time may rust ; 

Till the angel. Death, shall bind us, 
And consign us to the dust. 
94 



We shall ne'er forget the meetings, 
We have had in yonder wood ; 

Nor the kindty spoken greetings, 
Of our friend so true and good. 

In that grove for hours we've rambled, 
Gathering flowers from hill and wold ; 

Watching little streams that gamboled, 
Over shining banks of gold. 

Little birds for us were singing, 
Songs so lovely and so sweet ; 

Nature all, it seemed, was bringing, 
Gifts to scatter at our feet. 

For the knowledge that was given, 

By our teacher ever dear, 
To the pupils who have striven 

To ascend the ladder clear. 

We have come to show our feeling, 
These no words can tell, we know, 

But our acts our hearts revealing, 
Will convey our thoughts we trow. 

Take this arm chair, we implore thee, 
As a token and a theme ; 
95 



That while life remains before thee, 
It may bring thee many a dream. 

Then perhaps, you may remember, 
Those who stand around you here ; 

And in life's cold bleak December, 
Know we loved you ever dear. 

Some of us, perhaps, may meet thee, 
On this earth of ours no more ; 

Yet, we hope that we may greet thee, 
On that brighter, better shore. 



96 



Sfyafces of Ctutumn* 

k ROM out the lonely dale 

Is heard a plaintive sound; 
It breaks like sorrow's wail, 
Borne by the autumn's gale 
Round and round. 

The wood, once green and gay, 

Is silent now and drear; 
Its trees, all dark and gray, 
Have laid their robes away — 
Winter is near. 

The singing, sighing breeze, 

That floats along the vales, 
Sweeps o'er the grassy leas, 
And through forsaken trees, 
Telling tales. 

The gay song-birds have flown, 

But left no music here; 
The sweet strains, all their own, 
Are by the south-winds blown 
Far and near. 
97 



The flowers that lately grew 

In garden, wood, and plain, 
Have hid away from view, 
To wait the summers dew 
And the rain. 

The green-leafed clover blade 

Has turned to russet brown ; 
The grasses of the everglade 
Upon the lap of earth have laid 
Softly down. 

A smoky, murky haze 

Envelopes wold and hill; 
While heaven in these days 
Hears nature sing her praise 
Softly still. 

And in the stilly night, 

When silence says her prayer, 
The hands of heaven delight 
The lamp of love to light 

For the fair. 

And when the moon looks down, 

In mellow, quivering light, 
She smiles with half a frown, 
And calls the dark earth brown, 
" Mad delight," 



The sad winds soon will chase 
The shades of autumn o'er; 
Yet earth has learned a grace, 
While man through time can trace 
Glory's shore. 

The evening of the year, 

In scenes that twilight gave, 
Is drawing nearer, near, 
And, trembling, pauses here, 
By the grave. 



99 



little Hollie (Buy. 

It was in autumn late and drear; 
-^ Dame Nature's breast was brown and sere; 
The leaves were falling thick and fast, 

Twirled by the sighing breeze. 
Until they slept to dream at last 
Of better days than these. 
Through naked boughs the north winds blew, 
And sang the dying year adieu. 

A little, laughing, bright- eyed boy, 
A father's hope, a mother's joy, 

Had trod the flowers of nine short years, 

With all the thorns between, 
And supped the sweets and drained the tears 
That filled the simple mesne ; 
A dot he was where two loves met ; 
The theme on which two hearts were set. 

His soul was filled with childish grace, 
That beamed upon his smiling face ; 
In childish deed or word or thought, 
He seemed beyond his years ; 
100 



And out from days to come he brought 
The tide of present tears ; 
For joy, a laugh ; for pain, a sigh ; 
A soul he seemed not born to die. 

Full well do I remember now 
That bright, sweet boy, with laughing brow, 
Who, in the village school-room door, 

Would meet me every day, 
And greet me kindly o'er and o'er, 
With smiles so light and gay, 
That life seemed summer sunshine bright, 
Touched by a ray of heaven's light. 

The purest thing yet known to earth 
Is left unbailed before its birth ; 
Our hopes, the best, are first to die, 

The sweetest roses fade ; 
And cherished dreams that fledge and fly 
Leave shadows in the shade ; 
Earth holds no surety on its bliss, 
And sorrow stoops for misery's kiss. 

'Twas night — forsaken, lone, and drear; 
The hollow winds howled far and near, 
While on his couch in writhing pain 
Lay little Rollie Guy ; 
101 



And fell decease in fouler train, 
Marched all his forces by, 
And stole the rose from off his cheek, 
And glared his eye once mild and meek. 

Above him bowed his mother low, 
To watch the death moist come and go ; 
In silence for a time he lay, 

And then his small voice said : 
a O, mother, I'm so cold ; and say, 

Who sang around my bed ? '* 
Perchance, if such may ever be, 
The angels came, his soul to free. 

He slept a troubled sleep once more, 
And told in dreams his wee life o'er ; 

Then woke and whispered : " Mother, O, 

My head's so heavy now ; 
It seems some one is pressing so. 

Whose hands are on my brow? 
Will it be morning soon, papa ? 
When will the daylight come, mamma ? '' 

But ere the sun had risen in sight, 
His little soul saw heaven's pure light, 
And basked in summer sunshine bright, 
On heaven's happy shore ; 

102 



His hand that clasped his mother's tight 
Fell cold to warm no more. 
'Twas God who called, it must be right ; 
His morn had come while yet 'twas night. 



103 



(X moment's Sorroux 

/~\ne morn when the autumn was sallow and 
^-^ sear, 

And the world of its beauty was shorn. 
The serpent of sorrow came creeping so near, 

That I wished I had never been born. 

The love I had loved with the love of my life, 

Away from my bosom was torn; 
The night and the morning with sorrow were 
rife, 

And I wept that I ever was born. 

But to-night, through a rent in the clouds o'er 
the deep, 

Bursts the gleam of a lovelier morn ; 
And I sing in my joy till my weary eyes weep, 

I am glad that I ever was born. 



104 



w 



Q Sab £?cart. 

ild, turbulent heart, why despair, 
Why buy thy food from hell ? 
Dost thou not know that heaven's fare, 
Will satisfy as well ? 



Why kill thy love at hell's command, 

And fill its place with hate ? 
Hast thou not learned that " Glory Land," 

Was never found by fate ? 

Why spend the sweetest part of life 

In brooding o'er the wrong ? 
Wouldst thou not drop the horrid strife, 

And chime in loves sweet song? 

Above, below, all round, complete, 

The earth is full of bliss ; 
Then still thy heart for beauty, sweet, 

Is waiting for thy kiss. 

Where e'er we look, at heaven or earth, 
The beautiful is there ; 

105 



And he who owns a sterling worth, 
Can buy a goodly share. 

The lamp of love now shimmers clear, 
In valley, plain, and wood ; 

'Twas God who lit the flame, my dear, 
It surely must be good. 




106 



DotPtt 23y Darby. 

'T^his autumn night, all calm and free, 
•*• I choose to write, my love, to thee. 
November, sometimes in its bliss, 
Will bring a lovely night like this. 

There's not a cloud around, above, 
To hide the heavens from us, my love. 
The breezes sweetly sing their song, 
As gently still they glide along. 

The brooklet onward gently flows, 
While Nature sinks in calm repose. 
That brooklet's song I hear it yet, 
My soul the song will not forget. 

You know, my love, the song it sings, 
You know the joy its music brings. 
You know a brooklet, far away, 
That you and I strolled down one day, 

And paused beneath the willows tall, 
That let their stately branches fall, 
And shut from view, both far and near, 
The bridge that spanned the brooklet here, 
107 



'Twas on that bridge one summer eve, 
Just as the day began to leave; 
Just as the stars began to shine, 
Upon that gentle brow of thine. 

Just as the clouds began to flee, 
And leave the world to love and me ; 
'Twas there Love bound my life to thine, 
'Twas there Love loved and Love was mine. 

Two lives had cradled sorrow's tears, 
And hidden neath the tide of years. 
But now those weary days are past, 
Two hearts have found their own at last. 

Yes, found their own, for Love's divine, 
And those two hearts are yours and mine. 
So while your love my life o'erwhelms, 
I'll sing of Darby's bridge and elms, 

And pray the God of heaven to keep, 
Thy precious life till we shall meet. 
And, now, good night, a sweet good night, 
Thy guardians be the angels bright. 



108 



Snovobovon. 

Oometimes, while silently drifting down 
^ The strange, eventful river of time, 
We meet with forms that our spirits crown 
As queen of the muse that sings in rhyme, 

And souls expand, 
While out from the heart's impressive deep 
The wonderful thoughts of being creep, 

And weave a band, 

At love's command, 
That holds when the weary eyelids weep. 

Come, stand by my side, my love, and look 
Far up yon hill where the snowflakes fly ; 
Now see them fall in that rippling brook, 
That sings to the woodland cold and dry. 

There, one by one, 
Their white forms fade in the silent stream, 
As fades the bliss of a lovely dream ; 

Their course is run, 

Their life is done, 
And they lose the world and its fond esteem. 

109 



Now a flood of memories come and go, 

As the white-winged beauties circle down ; 
And the river, Time, in its onward flow, 
Has washed from many their old renown. 

Yet some, I know, 
Are like the flakes which kiss the dead grass ; 
Their beauty shines from a lonely mass, 

Far down below 

The ice cold snow 
Of all these years that so quickly pass. 

On the wings of thought I soar to-night 

To the solemn close of the by-gone year, 
And drink from a spring of pure delight 
That flowed from beauty's crystal sea clear. 
All round, complete, 
The earth was wrapped in a robe of white, 
That the full moon kissed through all the night, 
While music sweet 
Was timed by feet 
That glided us over the snow so light. 

And now I feel the touch of a hand, 

That stills my heart through memory's strain; 
It lives and loves at my soul's command, 
Allaying my sorrow, grief, and pain ; 
And two mild eyes, 
110 



That looked confidingly into mine. 

Direct from a soul whose sweet lights shine 

When storm clouds rise 

In glory's skies, 
And pierce through the gloom with a light divine. 

The tender words from a loving heart 

That two rosy lips would often drop, 
Are ringing on while the years depart, 
And shall till the sands of life shall stop ; 

And music sweet, 
That fell like waves on a summer day 
When the tide was ebbing far away, 

Still comes to greet 

My heart's retreat 
While the eve of life is growing gray. 

My love, there rests on your cheek a tear ; 

What was it fell with the pure, white snow ? 
What sad harsh tones have 'larum'd your ear 
And chased from your eye its lovely glow ? 
Ah ! yes ; I know. 
" The past," you say, u in memory's train 
Has come to sup with your soul again, 
While sweet and low 
The sad winds blow 
A flood of thoughts over heart and brain." 

ill 



Away in the land where the sweet lights shine, 
Some shreds of force through the dark walls 
break ; 
And echoes whisper, life is divine, 

And heaven is waiting in virtue's wake ; 
Now calm your breast, 
And list, my love, to heaven's sweet song, 
And catch the strains you shall sing e'er long ; 
Now lean and rest 
Upon my breast 
While the snow flakes sing thee memory's song. 



oTTo 



112 



o 



(latching Sunsfyine* 

ne day the sunshine through the door, 

Came softly stealing in, 
Where cooing baby on the floor 

Was making baby din. 

The stream of sunshine pouring through 
Appeared like golden bands ; 

And baby sprang, as babies do, 
To catch it in its hands. 

She tried again, again she tried, 

But each a failure brought ; 
" Come in," she said, hands open wide, 

But it would not be caught. 

I often since have seen young men, 

And others, rushing on, 
Attempt to catch Dame Fortune, when, 

Like sunshine, it was gone, 



113 



l}e J}ilis of fogatt. 



To The Students of the Summer School of '94, 
Zanesfield, Ohio. 



Y 



e Hills of Logan, valley cleft, 

What thoughts your ruem'ries wake ; 
No nobler gift has Nature left, 

Ohio's fame to make ! 
Your valleys, fertile as the Nile ; 

Your hills, with beauty blessed ; 
Your streams, their lazy hours beguile, 

With flower banks, song caressed. 

Ye Hills of Logan, valley cleft, 

Ohio's beauty ground ; 
How many gifts to us are left 

Thy fame to grandly round ! 
What deeds of honor's daring rise, 

To wake you to renown ; 
What names are written on the skies, 

From country-place or town. 
114 



Of many dots upon thy map, 

One now my pen commands ; 
The grounds of Zane, in Logan's lap — 

Historic, sacred lands — 
With wooded hills quite nobly set, 

With waterfalls sublime — 
The fame thy mingled glories get 

Will live as long as time. 

Ye Hills of Logan, valley cleft, 

Ye hold my village fast ; 
Here Simon Renton came, and left 

Some foot-prints as he passed ; 
Here Isaac Zane lived long before, 

And gave the place a name, 
And here the School of Ninety-four 

Gave something to its fame. 

Ye Hills of Logan, what has brought 

This little army here ; 
What are the battles it has fought 

This panic-stricken year. 
Methinks 'twould take a right brave heart, 

In such a treacherous time, 
For Education's Mount to start 

The dizzy heights to climb. 



115 



£o (Dur Hoblc 5 our ^corc. 

k OR forty suns together we have talked, 
For two short moons together we have 
walked. 

Together we have plucked the flowers that 

grew 
Where educations softest breezes blew. 

Time lingers not where deeds are being done ; 
'Tis then we see too soon the setting sun. 

Life's idle moments seem forever long ; 
Life's idle days are ever full of wrong. 

When lives are seeking treasures that will last, 
The moments then go speeding by too fast. 

In mem'ry's storehouse we have hid away 
Some wreath, to serve us at a future day. 

From heart and book, with happy, burning 

thought, 
The term its secret fund of truth has brought, 

116 



With knotty problems, musty names and dates, 
With propositions, and with compound rates. 

We some acquaintances have made and good, 
Some sweetmeats gotten fit for mental food. 

Just there a principle, just there a rule. 
An axiom to govern life's strange school. 

And man — true study — parts and powers — 

man, 
True study life's deep chasms helps to span. 

The more man knows of man, the more he 

knows 
Of Him who made the oak tree and the rose. 

If from Mount Riga's summit you would look, 
The rocks and steep ascents you first must 
brook. 

The Summer School of Ninety-four is gone, 
And Time its solemn course is plodding on. 

And if a tear should chance to add its worth, 
Count it but dew from heaven to kiss the earth. 

This hour is left ; we'll give it to good-byes, 

To farewell words, God-speeds, and parting 

sighs. 

117 



fife's Doyage, 



'T^his life is an ocean of toil and strife, 
-*- Where battles for vict'ry are fought, 
The billows that rise in the morn of life 
But shadow the task to be wrought. 

Each bark with its cargo of one lone soul 
Is launched on the fathomless deep ; 

With harbor unknown in a distant goal, 
It starts o'er the watery deep. 

One moment its streamers are plainly seen 
Above the wild water's white foam ; 

The next, in mid-ocean behind the screen, 
'Tis left in the darkness to roam. 

From ocean's dark breast comes a hollow moan, 
That chills every heart with its sound; 

And out from above peals a thunder groan, 
That loosens the fears that were bound. 

The wailing of winds and the breaker's roar 
Are telling their terrible tales, 

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While ocean uprises and heaves once more. 
And hope gives its place to fierce wails. 

The mist from the foam of the mad abyss 

Arises and shows us its face ; 
But where are the barks that were launched in 
bliss, 

And sailed with such beauty and grace ? 

There are only a few can be seen from shore, 
Their streamers still waiving on high ; 

All others are gone ; they will sail no more ; 
They sank 'neath the surges to die. 

The bark that was firmest the storm outrode, 

As gossamers ride the wild sea ; 
But weak ones have sunk to that dread abode, 

Where happiness never can be. 

The ship upon which you intend to sail, 

Prepare it first firmly and sound ; 
That the thunder's loud roar and the winds 
wild wail 

Can never compel you to ground. 



X19 



(Boob ttigtft. 



^HpHE moon has shut her glories in, 
-*- The heavy mists have fettled round ; 
The day has ceased its busy din, 
And lonely silence reigns profound : 
Good night, my love, good night. 

All day the mellow south winds blew, 

And with them came the breath of flowers ; 

They sang the soul charmed songs they knew, 
And called a world of bliss to ours : 
Good night, my love, good night. 



120 



parting Cfyougfyts. 



Read at Philo Private Reunion, O. N. U., Ada, O. 



TTThat thoughts come crowding to the mind, 

* * When musing all alone, 
Of present things and past combined, 
The garnered and the sown. 

When night has curtained back the day, 
And stars bestud the milky- way ; 
When evening zephyrs, sweet and low, 
Through scented blossoms come and go ; 
'Tis then life worships at the shrine, 
Where memory's Goddess reigns divine. 

A subtle sorrow, sweet with tears, 
Comes flooding all the by gone years ; 
And in its track some pleasant face, 
Comes back with all its former grace ; 
Or through the space some gentle word, 
Once more is waiting to be heard ; 

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The hand that gave its then warm grasp, 
Again receives its friendly clasp ; 
The eyes that looked a welcome then, 
Beam forth that same kind look again ; 
The heart that quivers in its thought, 
The gifts of old again has brought. 
Thus, all that life has ever sought, 
Though dead in form, still lives in thought. 
Thus, all that life would fain forget 
Is living on in memory yet. 

One day the roses bud and blow, 
The next the thorns and thistles grow ; 
One day has love in queenly state, 
The next is cursed with frowning hate ; 
One day has sunshine mild and bright, 
The next has clouds as black as night ; 
One day the scented south winds blow, 
The next the north winds scatter snow. 
Thus change forever marks the way; 
Where nature's forces hold their sway. 
But through it all there comes the song, 
That memory sings the whole day long. 
When storms of disappointment roll, 
Some sunshine creeps into the soul; 
When dangers fills the heart with fears, 
The breath of memory cools life's tears. 

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There are corners in life where our path seems 
to bend, 

From the course we have long had in view ; 
And sometimes it leads to a different end, 

And a different life course all through ; 
And mysteries rise till we can not feel sure, 

Of scarcely a thing that we know : 
And our best force is spent in a feint to endure 

Till the shadows are ready to go. 

Thus forever and forever, 

Like a light-house 'neath the sea, 

Ruined hopes may glimmer never, 
And the past can never be. 

— But — 

Come Summer's sun or Winter's frost, 

Life's battle must be won or lost. 

The true heart down life's river wide, 

Is never drifting with the tide ; 

The easy, placid, silent soul, 

That drifts the way the billows roll, 

Will never reach live's sunny goal — 

Their bark will wreck on some small shoal ; 

But true hearts filled with energy, 

That struggle till the way is free, 

Not only win the crowded race, 

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But find that treasured, trusted grace, 
That heaven pays for duty done, 
For battles fought and victories won. 
And back through days that then have gone, 
Sweet memories will come flooding on ; 
And joys divine spring up to greet, 
The victor they may chance to meet. 
Like scented roses down life's way, 
Thought scatters glory night and day. 

The sweetest moments life can know, 

Are lived when right is king ; 
Then storms of sorrow cease to blow, 

And friendships muses sing. 
Good night, my love, good night. 

All day the mellow south winds blew, 

And with them came the breath of flowers ; 

They sang the little songs they knew, 
And brought a world of love to ours. 
Farewell, my friend, farewell. 

Though earth have kings and men of lore, 
Yet earth is earth and nothing more ; 
Though time refuse thy life to bless, 
Yet life is life and nothing less. 
Farewell. 



124 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

lIllllUIPT 

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